


His Radiance

by osamakes (sinuous_curve)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blow Jobs, Exploration, M/M, Oral Sex, Sexual Inexperience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 08:36:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5241791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinuous_curve/pseuds/osamakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not that Cullen's a virgin, he's just never done <i>this</i> before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Radiance

"You don't have to do this," Bull says, pushing fingers through Cullen's hair. "I don't hold it against you." 

Which is likely true, Cullen knows. Even probably the truth. Bull has yet to ask for anything. He offers suggestions that are completely new to Cullen far more frequently than Cullen might like. Templars aren't meant to be worldly and Cullen was shyer than most. The things Bull knows are, in his words, easy to not know, and take some effort to learn. 

No shame, of course. Bull doesn't seem to have a sense of shame for anything that happens in a bed between two -- if not more, of course -- people. Cullen's admission that he had never exactly gotten to penetration before was met with _excitement_. Bull has an instructor's instinct. 

Cullen is avoiding the issue at hand. 

He looks down at his hands, realizes the accidental entendre, and feels heat flood his face. 

Maker's _balls_. 

"I want to do this for you," he says, somewhat helplessly. 

"I like what you've been doing for me." Bull tugs lightly on his hair and Cullen's spine turns liquid for a moment. As distraction techniques and outs go, it's among the more effective Cullen has ever seen. He is tempted. 

But no. He shakes his head and Bull lets his hand slip off. Bull's studying Cullen with one corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile. It's not mocking, no matter how loudly the difficult parts of Cullen's mind insist that it must be. It's not even really amused. It's fond, and comforting, and that makes Cullen blush more fiercely.

He clears his throat, which sounds ridiculously officious given the circumstances. He's not inspecting troops, for Maker's sake. He's on his belly in bed between Bull's massive thighs. He has Bull's soft cock in one hand, very close to his face. 

It's all so much easier when he's already lust-blind and grasping. He's sure red cheeks and clumsy fingers are quite alluring. Who wouldn't dream of such ministrations?

"I feel very foolish," he finally admits. "I'm a grown man. I should be more adept than a virgin on his wedding night." 

Bull chuckles. "If it took getting to this point to want it, there's nothing wrong with that. It's not as complicated as people act like it is. At least, it doesn't have to be. As the only one qualified to to say anything about how you've done so far, I haven't been disappointed. Far from it." 

There's a particular gleam to Bull's eyes and a sharpness to his smile that makes swallowing suddenly much more difficult for Cullen. His cock, trapped between mattress and his belly, twitches. He clears his throat again. 

"So far all I've had to do is lie back and think of Ferelden," Cullen protests. "You've done all the work. It seems. I should rather meet you halfway." 

Bull rolls his very, very broad and well-muscled shoulders in a shrug. "Fucking's not watch rotations, Cullen. No one's going to think less of you for taking your preferred shift."

Cullen thinks less of _himself_ , but he won't say that aloud. For a fleeting moment, he thinks that a different life might have had him doing this with a young woman equally as inexperienced and he grimaces at the thought. He never gave much creedence to the notion of marriage as a prerequisite for carnal pleasure. It simply was. But it seems a cruel joke to toss two people who haven't the slightest idea what they're doing into bed, when the best you can hope for is neither's nose being broken. 

"It feels very good," Cullen says, unable to look Bull in the eye. "When you do it to me, I mean. I should like to be able to reciprocate. And I. There's no one. I can't practice on anyone but you."

"You can if you want, you know." Bull cocks his head. Cullen is suddenly wildly curious, but he doesn't particularly wish to address Qunari notions of fidelity with Bull's cock four inches from his nose. 

Instead, he says, "I don't want to. With anyone but you, that is," and Bull's smile broadens. 

"All right." Bull brushes his scarred knuckles over Cullen's cheek. "Don't overthink it, yeah? It's just a dick." 

"Of course, just a, ah, dick. Indeed." 

Cullen imagines only someone who has the biggest one in Skyhold can possibly think in such terms, but it does help to calm his nerves somewhat. Practically, he's already had _it_ inside him and lived to tell the tale. He had a hitch in his step for a few days that Dorian, Sera, and Varric all felt the need to comment on, but he can live with that. 

But the matter at hand. Again. In hand? Cullen closes his eyes and wishes for -- he doesn't know. A rewritten history wherein he can leap into bed as confidently as Bull. 

"You can explore, if you want." Bull's voice startles him a little. "Take your time." 

Cullen raises an eyebrow. "Is there some surprise I should be braced for?"

Bull laughs. Cullen can feel the rumble of it. "Not really, no. But people are different, and that doesn't change no matter how much sex you have. It's good to get to know them, if you can." 

"Like swords," Cullen says, thinking. "It's always good to do a few basic passes with a new weapon."

"Exactly."

Perhaps that shouldn't make the task at hand so much less daunting, but it does. Cullen is practical enough to take what he's given, and never mind how foolish he feels. He felt foolish the first six months of templar training when he spent more time in the dirt than meeting blows. 

Granted, Bull's cock is a better inducement than a grizzled knight calling him an idiot while he spits dirt out of his mouth. 

Cullen shakes his head. He doesn't want to think about templar knights. 

Bull's brushing scarred knuckles against his cheek startles Cullen, and he jumps a little. Heat blooms into his cheeks all over again. Damned fair skin, always painting his mind on his face for all the world to see. He ducks his head for a moment, but Bull puts two gentle fingers beneath his chin and raises Cullen's gaze. 

"It's just me," Bull says, smiling crookedly. 

Indeed. Cullen nods, unable to find words, and returns the smile. Bull leans back, lacing his hands behind his neck and looking downward with the casual air of a spectator watching drills in the yard. 

Cullen focuses. 

Expected differences taken into account -- a red cock on a Qunari would look as strange as a gray cock on Cullen -- Bull isn't all that different from what Cullen is used to. Considering Cullen's intimate acquaintance with it, he shouldn't be as surprised as he is and yet. Bent over a bed with your world being remade through flesh doesn't allow for a great deal of detached observation. 

Cullen circles the thumb and first finger of his swordhand around the base in a small, beginning experiment. His digits touch and that's, well. That's reassuring. Lingering doubtful thoughts of insufficiency are at least quieted by that sight. 

"What do you like?" Cullen asks. 

"Mm?" Bull's response is more of a grunt than a word. Cullen looks up and meets Bull's eye, which seems suddenly brighter. His throat visibly contracts as he swallows. And there's color, an odd purple-ish shade, starting on his cheeks. 

"You." Cullen cocks his head. "You like this? This isn't anything."

Bull huffs a laugh, a little exasperated but amused for the greater part. "Damn, Cullen. I like you. And yeah, I like your breath on me and your fingers on me."

"What else?" 

"Do what you'd do to yourself," Bull says. 

The very first thing that jumps to Cullen's throat is the ingrained denial of a templar trainee that he _doesn't_ do anything to himself, but that's a lie as old as the order itself. Of course he did, laying on a cot in a room with a dozen other boys, biting his blanket to keep from crying out. Just as those other boys did. All of them secretly listening to each other. 

"All right," Cullen agrees softly, speaking mostly to himself. 

He allows his touch to remain light, exploratory. Bull will never make him do anything against his wishes. A promise that seemed strange at the time, but one that has become far more precious than Cullen ever could have expected. And this he does want, even if the sheer immediacy of _Bull_ is overwhelming after a lifetime alone and without want. 

Bull's cock is thick, of course, and long, _of course_. Hardening, too. Cullen feels a strangled laugh bubble in his throat at that and he pointedly swallows it down. He's not a child. He's a soldier, for Maker's sake. You don't become a soldier and stay completely innocent of flesh. 

"Are you big?" Cullen asks suddenly. "For a qunari?" 

Bull chuckles. "That greedy?" 

Cullen flushes bright red. "No! I was. It was. A curiosity." 

"It's okay," Bull says. "And as much as anyone answers that honestly, I guess I am."

_Lucky_ , Cullen thinks. 

He releases Bull's cock for as long as it takes to spit into his palm and wrap all his fingers around. Bull's skin is hot and, now, nearly fully hard. Cullen's never seen that happen from so close. His throat goes dry. It takes him a moment to assemble his thoughts enough to interpret them as _want_. 

Then he shifts on the bed and a spike of heat lances through him that leaves him breathless. He realizes, quite belatedly, that his cock has followed suit, as it were. Cullen swallows with some difficulty. (A part of him that is still unfamiliar wants to _beg_ for Bull to use his cock, and it's loud voice that Cullen can't easily ignore.) 

Slowly, he drags his hand down Bull's length. Bull grunts, and hisses something in Qunlat. 

"It's ridged," Cullen rasps, not realizing he intends to speak until he has. 

Bull grinds out a breathless laugh. "It, ah, fuck. Yes." 

Cullen has nearly been brought to screaming by Bull's tongue tracing along the vein on the underside of his cock. Bull has ridges that Cullen's fingers drag against and the only comparison, ridiculous thought it is, that comes to mind is seams on plate armor. 

He wonders, briefly, if Qunari cocks bear any resemblance to dragon cocks. He almost asks, then reconsiders. Cullen strongly doubts there's any chance Bull doesn't have opinions on that subject. Nor that he will gladly relay them at great length. It's not that Cullen isn't interested -- it's difficult to have any amount of feelings for Bull and not develop some affection for dragons -- but it's a digression better left for later. 

Cullen purposefully drags his palm back up. Bull inhales sharply, fisting his hands into the blanket. 

There's a deep, tactile pleasure in something as simple as that. Bull's skin is so hot. Hotter by far than any human, of that Cullen is sure. Dragons again, flitting through his mind with fire in their breath. Bull's blood, perhaps?

"Fuck," Bull exhales. " _Fuck_." 

Cullen is suddenly sharply aware of how Bull smells. 

There's the typical scents, of course. Sweat and skin, stronger in the creases of Bull's thighs and in the startling white of his pubic hair. A bit of leather around the edges. Bread, oddly enough. Cullen hadn't realized Bull spent that much time in the kitchen charming and scaring the servants into giving him bits and treats. People, so far as Cullen has ever known, are essentially the same. 

But that's wrong. He's aware of something beneath those scents. Something sharp? Like a freshly honed sword cutting through skin so easily you don't realize you've done it until blood starts to drip. The acrid smoke and fire of trebuchet fire hurled against the implacable walls of a fortress. Adamant murmurs in the back of Cullen's mind and he shoves it away. He feels his blood sing for the fight like a distant echo. 

Cullen tightens his hand around Bull's cock. Bull hisses. 

"Cullen, _fuck_." Cullen looks at him, and is almost startled to see the tension wound tight through Bull's broad shoulders. 

He wonders if the spiked heat in his gut is the opposite of the thing in him that wants to show his belly to Bull. (Beneath that, so distant as to barely register as a thought, Cullen understands that he isn't afraid.) 

Want has never been a simple thing for Cullen. It's fraught and difficult, twisted by the Templars and the Chantry and the the circle and Kirkwall. He's never really believed it possible to reach a point of single-minded necessity. Where nothing else could possibly matter as much as desire. Not without reckless choice, or magic, or the foolishness of not knowing any better. 

He was wrong. 

Cullen opens his mouth and, looking up at Bull through the sweep of his eyelashes, sucks the head of Bull's cock into his mouth. 

He tastes of salt and sweat and something sharp and strange. It's much closer to cunt than Cullen expected, and that makes him want to laugh with familiarity. All things made in the Maker's image, he thinks. Even the earth and skin taste of want. 

Still, to have Bull _inside_ him is different from being inside another. 

He yearns from the depth of an empty place deep inside him. He wants to take Bull in, deeper and deeper, and be filled. So tawdry, he thinks, in the low and disapproving voice of the chantry. It's distant, though, and unimportant.

The Maker, Cullen truly believes in the moment, would not let his creations fly like this if he wanted them on the ground. 

Bull's hand suddenly resting heavy on the back of Cullen's head is surprising first, then deeply right. He hums in pleasure. Bull fists in Cullen's hair, pulling, and that is even better. Cullen's hips buck against the bed. Maker, _yes_. Let him never be gone from this place. 

Cullen sucks. He's aware of the stretched tight feeling at the corners of his mouth, the slick mess of spit on his chin and Bull's cock. He bobs a little, frustrated by the limited motion he can achieve. Bull's pulls on his hair, hard, and Cullen whines around the thickness of his cock. 

Distantly, Bull chants his name, "Cullen, Cullen, _Cullen, please_ ," and Cullen thinks, _yes_ and sucks harder. 

Bull convulses. Bitter salt floods Cullen's mouth and he chokes. Reckless pleasure pours through him. He pulls off -- mourning the loss, the emptiness of his mouth -- and swallows thickly, his breath afterward coming in heavy gasps. He presses his face into the crease of Bull's thigh, where sweat and his scent has gathered. 

Cullen inhales. His mouth is raw. This is glory. 

It takes a long time for Bull to release him. Cullen doesn't mind.

**Author's Note:**

> I def don't have an inexperience kink when it comes to Cullen. That's ridiculous. As usual, for the wife, for nearly infinite patience.


End file.
